Archive for the ‘Husband Wrangling’ Category

Every now and then I write something which I think is so funny that I have to pause my typing because I’m laughing so hard.

Generally speaking, however, I am the only person on the planet to find those things funny.

The other day, my husband (who, as some of you may remember, never laughs at my jokes) was spending some quality time tuning his Other Woman (also known as his motorbike) when I approached, chuckling heartily to myself.

Our subsequent conversation went something like this:

ME: I just wrote something really funny on facebook!

HIM: Really? That’s nice.

ME: Yeah it really was really really funny. No, really. You see, I wrote something about the humid weather in one of my status updates and [The Mild-Mannered Lawyer] made some reference to that Nelly song about  how it’s “getting hot in herre” and I was all, like, “so take off all your clothes”.

HIM: Yeah, that’s really funny.

ME: No, no, no, no. That’s not the funny bit! I haven’t got to it yet! Anyway, so then somebody else said something about how someone must have brought the weather from Sydney and, you see, that’s EXACTLY what Mr Justice accused me of that morning. Of taking the weather with me from Sydney. You know, because I just came back from Sydney.

HIM: Yep.

ME: And then The Mild-Mannered Lawyer – obviously in her capacity as my legal counsel – advised me that Mr Justice was plagiarising Crowded House lyrics…

HIM: (eyes glazing over) Uh huh.

ME: So I said – and this is the funny part right here – I said that Neil Finn should either sue or get together with Nelly and write a song called ‘Everywhere you go, you always take off all your clothes’ !!!!!

HIM: And?

ME: That’s the funny thing I wrote. ‘Everywhere you go, you always take off all your clothes!’.

HIM: (gives blank look)

ME: You know, because of that Crowded House song that goes ‘Everywhere you go, you always take the weather with you’. And because Nelly tells everyone to take off all their clothes – although, technically, nobody actually does take off all their clothes in the film clip, just a few superfluous top layers. Although I expect ‘take off a few superfluous top layers’ didn’t scan quite as well. Not that ‘take off all your clothes’ scans that well anyway because, let’s face it, it doesn’t even rhyme and it should be something like ‘So take off all your gear’ or ‘Let’s drink our body weight in beer’. Although you’d have to spell ‘gear’ and ‘beer’ with a double RR, you know, to be consistent with his creative spelling of ‘herre’, which I’ve always thought could also be an alternative spelling of ‘hair’ and, for reasons I can’t quite explain right now, makes me think of a bunch of heavily bearded guys in leathers dancing around in a nightclub where the roof is on fire. And no, I don’t know why I’m telling you this, either.

[Long silence]

HIM:  Oh. Okay. I’m glad you had a nice time on your Facebook. [Turns back to his motorbike].

Look, if my husband just bothered to accept my facebook friendship request – or, indeed, even joined Facebook – he’d see just how funny I was, like, ALL THE TIME and he’d be writing “Good one! LOLZZZZ!!! :-D” all over my damn wall.  Don’t I know it.

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My husband’s got a big one but it doesn’t work properly. Yes, his expensive camera lens needs fixing.

He rang me from outside the shop to say the guy “didn’t like the look of it” and offered to sell him a new one “at cost” on the spot.

“Basically it could cost us $350 to fix the old one or we could have a brand new one for $505,” my husband explained. “That’s only $150 more!”

“$155 more”, I corrected.

Whatevs,” my husband said.

“And what would we do with the old one?” I asked.

“We’d get it fixed and sell it on ebay.”

“Have you ever sold anything on ebay?”

“Uh, no,” my husband admitted.

“And what if we only sold it for 99 cents? That’d mean we’d be $855 out of pocket,” I said.

“$845.01,” my husband corrected.

This time it was my turn to say “Whatever!” I think I might even have thrown in a ‘W’ and ‘E’ hand gesture as I said it.

Look, in his defence, I knew that he was in a rush and had a million other things to think about and just wanted me to say “Just buy a new one and let’s get on with our lives” but I couldn’t. See, I knew the current state of our credit cards.

“One could argue that if we get the old one fixed and don’t buy the new lens we’ll save at least $155,” I reasoned.

“But even if we get it fixed, it might not come back the same!” my husband argued back, like it was going to return like some kind of zombie camera lens – dead and yet not dead – with an preternatural taste for human blood. You know, the kind of lens favoured by papparazi all over the world.

In the end, I won and my husband put it in to the shop to be assessed. We’d make ‘The Call’ when we knew more about the situation instead of basing our decision on a five second look at the lens by a guy who probably “didn’t like the look” of any lens he’d ever met because he was just a complete arsehole like that.

A few days later, my husband got a call from the Lens Shop.

“It’s fixed!” he cried, when he got off the phone. “And it only cost us $115!”

It was like it was his own personal triumph.

“See? I was right. Admit it,” I said, a little smugly.

“Yes, you were right,” my husband replied. “But even a stopped clock is right twice a day.”

Which means I’ve got a chance of being right at least once again in my life? The mind boggles.

Anyway, the long and the short of it is that we’ve yet to see if the lens comes back ‘the same’. Since we got it fixed specifically so my husband could take photos for my sister’s upcoming ‘wedding party’, there’s a good chance the photos could turn out with everyone looking like they’re from the set of Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’.

Zombies are so hot right now.


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